


Wax Lyrical

by witchsoup



Series: Catching Flies [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Background Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Like, background romione, background scorose, bi!Teddy, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 08:18:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchsoup/pseuds/witchsoup
Summary: Teddy leans against the counter, reaching over to unwrap some biscuits in the shape of Christmas trees that really should have been thrown out on Boxing day. Attempting to snap one in half, he's met with an incredibly unsatisfying soggy disintegration. He eats it anyway.





	Wax Lyrical

**Author's Note:**

> 90% of the errors grammarly gives me is the overuse of commas. I say, let me live, what does it know.

He's chaining his bike at the back door of the cafe when he sees her: bundled in a scarf and a thick winter jacket, scowling at the packet of cigarettes held in her hand. Although it's already five past the hour, five minutes past when he was supposed to be starting his shift, Teddy fumbles in the pocket of his jeans for a lighter. Holding it aloft, he calls to her across the street.

"Need a light?"

Initially, she doesn't even show she's heard him. When her eyes track over his hair (bright blue) and his tattoos (innumerable, and available in various shades), she gives a tight shake of her head. Pulling out one earphone, she stuffs the packet deep into the bag she's now got propped on one hip.

"I don't smoke," she says and wanders off in the direction of the main road.

Inside, he throws his distressed denim jacket over the bannister which leads to the toilets, and makes his way out from behind the counter. Rose stalks past him and shoves her notepad into his chest.

"About time."

The shop is practically empty, save a man in a pair of sunglasses facing pointedly away from the window, clutching the glass of coffee in front of him like it's the last cup he'll ever see. It's a safe place to nurse a hangover, gentrified and artfully shabby. Oversized bulbs suspended from the ceiling don't do much to offend the photosensitive and recently intoxicated.

There's no need for the bite in her tone. He tugs on the end of her scarf, asking, "Where are you running off to? You're still on holiday."

Tugging on her coat, Rose checks her reflection in her phone screen.

"Al is taking me to brunch," says Rose, doing her best to sound nonchalant.

Teddy leans against the counter, reaching over to unwrap some biscuits in the shape of Christmas trees that really should have been thrown out on Boxing day. Attempting to snap one in half, he's met with an incredibly unsatisfying soggy disintegration. He eats it anyway.

"Just Al? That skirt is new, and so is that jacket," Teddy says, grinning.

"They were Christmas presents. That's what you _do_ with Christmas presents," she snaps.

"That's what you do on a _date."_

"The three of us are going to brunch like we always do-"

"But only the two of you went at it under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve."

"Shut up, Teddy. You've been so annoying since you got dumped. It's no reason to make fun of everyone else's relationships, just because yours was a disaster."

"He wasn't my boyfriend," he protests. "So technically, I was never dumped. I was... let go."

"That's what you say when you lose your job, not your fuck buddy."

"Piss off Rosie, and give the Scorpion King my love-"

Rose flushes. Scorpius’ childhood obsession with the Rock is his most closely guarded shame. Needless to say, the nickname never really caught on.

"I hate you."

"I love you too, Rosie."

Though his shift is only four hours long - the better to exploit you with, my dear - it drags. People still aren't back into the swing of normality after the festive season, but already the new year has lost its lustre. 

His resolution last year was to visit his grandmother more, but in his newly free time he's picked up his guitar once or twice. The piano in her sitting room collects dust. He can't bring himself to lift the lid.

Around twelve, Rose's mother appears, trailed by a couple of nervous-looking young women in skirt suits. Her phone is glued to her ear, and her face is set in a deep frown as she rattles off names and dates. There's every chance the person on the other end is her assistant, Dermot. Then again, it could be her husband. She tends to speak like that to most people.

Not Teddy, though. Hermione changed his nappies.

Brightening when she spots him, she promptly hands her phone to one of the women behind her, cutting off mid sentence.

"Morning! Afternoon?" She glances at her watch, and then peers at the menu above his head. "My publicist tells me I should go gluten free because it's _trendy._ But then again, it's all very middle class, isn't it?"

She sighs, looking torn, fiddling with her wedding ring.

"What do you recommend?"

"The sticky toffee loaf," Teddy says, grabbing some greaseproof paper to wrap it up. "And three large cappuccinos, extra shot?"

"Is it gluten free? And yes, to the coffee."

"If you wanted someone to lie to you, you should have come in earlier when Rosie was on."

Hermione's face softens.

"Yes, Albus told me Scorpius is taking her to brunch."

"He's going too, apparently."

She snorts. 

"That's what she thinks."

Fishing in her purse, Hermione hands him a twenty-pound note, and shakes her head when he tries to hand her the change. With a wink, she rattles the tip jar.

Trailed by her entourage, Hermione makes her way back out to her car. Teddy can see her pull the sticker off the driver side window before giving him a cheery wave and pulling away. She's only ever had one parking ticket in all the years Teddy' been alive, and a photo of her being written up ended up in the local paper. Now, she's careful to pay for parking.

He's wiping down the counter when he hears someone wiping their shoes on the mat by the door, and he's startled to see it's the girl with the cigarettes. The non-smoker. A job in Starbucks doesn't often seem appealing, but the thought of asking her name without a cup to write it on is too much for him to handle.

She slips into a seat under the specials board, and pulls a menu towards her. After a moment's deliberation, her laptop appears on the table. The sound of rapid typing isn't quite drowned out by the music coming from discreet speakers in the corners. Rose isn't allowed to choose the music. Their customers are snobs.

Teddy counts to twenty, wiping the same section of counter and banging the portafilter on the coffee machine a couple of times.

"The wifi password is on the counter." He flings a hand towards a slab of driftwood reading _bourgeois69._ His manager let him pick the wifi password since she had no idea how to change it herself.

Teddy is very, very lucky he makes such good coffee.

Flipping open his notebook, he grabs the pencil from behind his ear and asks, "What can I get for you?"

"Cream cheese bagel and a skinny latte. Please," she adds as an afterthought, not once looking up from her laptop screen. 

There's a young couple with a baby sitting by the window, and an older man reading a thick book at the table behind them. He scans the levels of their cups: practically full, though the baby's parents are on their second and third cup respectively. Rounding the corner, he slaps the food order down on the kitchen counter, disappearing before the cook can poke his head out from behind the fridge.

From his vantage point behind the counter, Teddy steals glances at the girl. Her hair is golden blonde, pulled back in a severe ponytail, just brushing the collar of her dark shirt. A winter jacket and a hoodie are strewn over the other chair, and she's wearing black boots that lace halfway up her legs.

They look like leather. The bag does, too. A bold move, in this place, where the menu is littered with little green leaves denoting vegan, vegan, vegan.

Teddy likes steak. Harry says his dad did, too.

Squinting, he tries to make out the words on her screen. An invasion of privacy, he knows, but he's too far away to read a single word. Her fingers continue to tap away at the keys, blending with the sounds of Arcade Fire.

An hour passes, excruciatingly for him. Though she picks at her bagel and drinks her coffee in less than ten swallows, she doesn't stop writing. It's half two before she looks up, and her face lights up when a man in his forties walks into the cafe. Good-looking, with fair hair and a tan, he swoops in to kiss her on both cheeks with a grin that makes him look like a much younger man.

He sees the appeal.

The face of professionalism, Teddy takes his order without the barest whisper of flirtation. Black coffee. Classic.

The girl shuts her laptop and leans over the table to murmur something, smirking.

"Victoire!" Her companion stifles a laugh, and she simply lifts one finger to her lips. He takes her hand, holding it in his own, looking up with a start when Teddy puts down his coffee.

"Thanks, mate."

He goes into the back, turns up the music just a touch, and for the next twenty-five minutes, does anything but look over at Victoire and her gentleman friend. Taking another customer's order up to the kitchen, he stops at the bottom of the stairs for a moment.

Still, no messages from his not-quite-ex-boyfriend.

Back in the cafe's main room, he's startled to see Victoire is gone, and the man is standing over the table, digging in his pockets. In his haste, he shoves their contents onto the table: a phone, a set of keys, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Finally, he sifts through the notes in his wallet and grimaces at Teddy.

"That'll cover it, right?" he asks, throwing thirty quid onto the table. "Look," he continues, lowering his voice. "When she comes back out, give her this. Tell her I had to ditch the old one. Thanks."

He presses a crumpled slip of paper into Teddy's hand, and shakes a cigarette from the packet, turning to leave without another word.

The minute hand on their huge pretentious clock crawls onward, as Teddy waits for Victoire to resurface. After a moment's deliberation, he carefully wraps one of their famous courgette and lime cakes in brown paper.

She emerges, back straight, and stops dead when she sees the deserted table. Jumping up, Teddy holds out his offerings.

"He's sorry, he had to rush off. But he, uh, bought this for you," Teddy begins, holding out the cake. "And he said to give you this. Had to ditch his old one, he said."

Staring blankly, she accepts both the cake and the paper in silence. It's a phone number, Teddy realises when she unfolds it. 

"Thank you. How much do I owe you, for the coffees?"

Shaking his head, he replies, "All taken care of."

She gives him a polite, strained smile, and looks visibly shaken when her phone begins to ring.

"Maman," Victoire says, voice thick, and her face crumples. Grabbing her coat and bag, she hurries out of the shop, but not before Teddy catches a string of rapid, unintelligible French.

His grandmother spoke French, because it's all that was spoken in _her_ grandmother's house. Very Russian of them.

Four days later, he sees the mystery girl - Victoire, he corrects - again. This time, he's in the middle of taking Ron's order when he sees her stomping past the cafe, blonde hair streaming behind her. The wind outside is brutal, and he's not sure if the way she's rubbing at her eyes is from the weather, or something else.

"Keep the change, mate. But, remember-"

"Don't tell Hermione."

"Or Rosie. Dinner on Saturday, ok? Ginny's making stroganoff, or something. You like Chinese food, right?"

"Stroganoff isn't Chinese-"

Ron fixes Teddy with a conspiratorial smile.

"Not even my sister's temper is as bad as her cooking. I left menus in the kitchen drawer last time I was over."

* * *

"What are you doing? We're swamped-"

"I'm checking my bank balance," she says, chewing on her thumbnail. "A year's rent is going to be, what six grand? I'm less than halfway there, Teddy."

Shoving her phone into her pocket, Rose scrubs a hand over her face.

"I have less than six months to get the money together-"

"You don't honestly think your parents aren't going to let you go to uni-"

"It's not about any old uni, it's about _Edinburgh,"_ Rose whines. "You know what they said, earn the money myself or stay home and commute. How is that even fair? If they're willing to pay after the first year, why not the whole time? They both went to boarding school, and I'm practically an adult, I can't live in that madhouse-"

"Hold that thought," Teddy says. "Good afternoon, Mr and Mrs Weasley."

Ron grins at the same time Hermione purses her lips.

"Don't be a dick, Teddy."

"Rose Granger-Weasley," her mother snaps. "Language."

"What'll it be today?"

"Oh, I don't know what's good here," says Ron with a poorly concealed smile. "What do you think, Hermione?"

"Two cappuccinos, please, we're in a hurry to get to the library before it closes. They want to give me a tour of the new collection."

Ron hands over a twenty-pound note, and without a second's hesitation, both he and his wife say, "Keep the change."

They look at each other in mortification.

Teddy doubles over laughing.

* * *

He's carrying two bags of coffee grounds, minding the step, when he bumps into Victoire.

"Oh- sorry, I didn't see you there-"

"What's your name?"

His brow furrows, and he hoists the bags higher against his hips.

"Teddy. Edward. Teddy."

"Teddy, is this thing held here?"

She points to the notice board hanging on the wall, which reads 'SLAM POETRY AND OPEN MIC' in curly script. Below that, tomorrow's date.

"In the back. We have comedians and food stalls and stuff a couple of times a month."

"Would you please put my name down?"

"Of course," he says. Dropping the coffee grounds to the floor, he pulls the sign up sheet from below the counter. "So, you'll be on fifth- singing or poetry?” His pen stills as he goes to write the letter V. “And what's your name?"

"My name is Victoire. I'll see you tomorrow, Teddy."

* * *

The stage is squat and creaks under his weight. Holding one hand up against the glaring stage light, he double checks his list, as if he hasn't been waiting for her to perform all night.

Around seven, she arrived alone, ordered a gin and tonic and proceeded to watch the other performers with an eerily unblinking focus. When he waved at her, she had lifted her drink in salute.

"Next is Victoire. Give her a hand, everyone."

Tonight, her boots are black suede, high heeled and adorned with bright silver zippers. An oversized black sweatshirt hangs low over the band of her jeans, and her hair spreads loose and buttery across her shoulders.

She's wearing lipstick, and it's mouth watering.

Row after row of short, blunt cut fringes in a kaleidoscope of colours, glinting septum piercings and oversized tortoiseshell glasses observe her in silence.

"Good evening. My name is Victoire, and this is a poem called 'Teacher's Pet.'"

Then, she starts to speak.

**Author's Note:**

> YES THE TITLE IS A WEREWOLF PUN ok sorry not sorry


End file.
